Does anyone want to read 3000 words of Nemona tearing herself to pieces because high school is hell, even if you're the star of the pokemon league and student council president?
Nemona loves gym. She loves running and jumping, throwing her body around like she’s a pokemon mid-battle. She’s always been a bundle of energy, always used movement as self-regulation. But over the years that she’s been at this school, gym has gotten hard.
She can’t move without someone else flinching. The girls on the other team tighten, then scatter when she grabs a dogeball. Roll their eyes, throw lazily so they’ll be out quickly. Dendra punishes them in other ways — situps, butpees, laps — for not trying properly, but they’d all rather do that than compete with her.
She knows the two girls by the bench. Not out but pretending to be, are whispering. Pointing. Laughing, probably. Can feel their eyes on her when she jumps to claim a cstch that would have taken out a team mate, launches it back at the thrower. It hits her on the leg and bounces off towards the whisperers. She thinks one of them screams, already calling for Dendra.
“Did you see that? She aimed for my head!” she cries. Dendra rolls her eyes, glances at Nemona. She fidgets a ball between her hands, idly watching the room for any would be attackers. She doesn’t hear what Dendra says, just watches the girl stomp off shooting her glares.
The game ends decisively. Nemona doesn’t get the thrill of victory she feels after a pokemon battle. Or the satisfying ache in her body from using it properly. She just feels sick, following her classmates into the locker room.
It goes silent when she enters. Nemona doesn’t bkw, doesn’t fold into herself. She walks to the back of the room, grabs her stuff out of her locker and, like she wasn’t in a room full of sharks, begins to change. Conversations start up again. Chatter about plans for the past weekend. Homework, upcoming tests.
Someone mutters “dyke” across the room. Nemona wriggles her shoulders like she’s fighting the urge to stretch, and continues changing.
“Did you see?” someone else spits, louder. “she flaunts all that muscle like she doesn’t look like a boy.”
“Maybe she wants to be a boy.” She knows that voice. Lila. The girl who complained to Dendra in class.
Nemona grits her teeth, swallows down the anger burning a hole through her tongue. Then she says, fixing the last buttons on her shirt:
“Jealous, Lila? Or do you just like what you see?” A couple of girls break out into laughter. One nudges Lila, who scowls.
“Disgusting.” she spits. “As if anyone could enjoy that. Hard not to notice though, when you parade yourself around like you put the stars in the fucking sky.”
Nemona ties her tie facing the wall, hides how her fingers shake. Its never escalated this far before; she’s in unknown territory.
“Maybe you should keep up.” she retorts; thank Arceus there’s no tremor in her voice. “You’d have less to be jealous of.”
“Hah! Who’d be jealous of a spindly, gangly dyke with no friends but for the staff? Everyone’s tired of seeing your dumb face all over the school already.”
Nemoma, finished, grabs her bag and throws it over her shoulder.
“Thanks for the review.” She says, pushing past Lila on her way to the door. “Be sure to leave a review with the student council, and we’ll do what we can.” She shoots the room a grin that feels fragile and a little peace sign with her fingers, then gets the hell out of there.
She’s shaking. Her chest pulls together in a way that feels both familiar and terrifying. She leans against the wall of the gym block, exhales slowly, then makes her way to lunch. Lunch is safe. At lunch, she has friends.
The hallway to the cafeteria is louder than usual.
Nemona walks fast, backpack swinging off one shoulder, hair still damp from the locker room. She keeps her head high. Easy posture. Confident. Like nothing’s wrong.
People turn.
They always do, but this time it’s different. Less curiosity, more calculation. A few whispers cut off mid-sentence as she passes. One girl laughs behind her hand. A boy mutters something she doesn’t catch, but she could probably guess if she had to.
Nemona doesn’t slow down.
She steps into the cafeteria and the volume doesn’t dip, but she feels the shift. Stares. Like she’s radioactive.
Her tray clatters too loud as she grabs it. She stacks her lunch quickly, ignores the elbows, the side glances, the quiet chuckles she knows are about her.
She has to brush past a table on the way to her own. A girl shifts deliberately into her path. Nemona doesn’t react. Just sidesteps and keeps moving.
She spots her friends—Penny waving a spoon around, Arven mid-rant about the lack of protein options, Juliana already looking up, brows pulling together.
Nemona reaches them with a grin already plastered in place.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, voice bright. “Got into it with a girl in gym. Sore loser.”
She drops into her seat like nothing happened. Juliana squints at her. “You okay?”
Nemona pops open her milk. “Better now.”
And smiles. Wide. Brilliant. Almost real.
Lunch passes; Nemona flicks on like a light at the jokes her friends tell and the little incidents that happen in their own elective classes. Hassel reading one of Juliana’s poems aloud in art and she just about dies, but lets them tease her into sharing it anyway. Arven breaks out the macarons he spent home ec making. Penny played a prank on one of the nasty kids in her IT class — Nemona pretends to disapprove, but its impossible when she’s laughing too loud, showing too many teeth. She tells them all how she “kicked ass” in dodgeball like it’s no big deal, sweeping her ponytail over her shoulder. Like it doesn’t take all her strength to keep showing up to a class she loves.
She leaves with Juliana for biology, still laughing with her best friend. Their shoulders bump together. There’s a loose hair, fallen from her braid, that Nemona’s fingers itch to tuck away. She can’t, because it’s not friendly when it comes from her. It’s a target on Juliana’s back. Tarred with the same brush.
She slides into her seat in class still breathless, still smiling. Takes out her books, her pen. Hears Juliana do the same thing behind her. The classroom starts to fill, most of the class ignores her. It doesn’t start until Jaq comes bumbling in, arms filled with papers and little booklets.
“Today;” he starts, handing out piles to the front of each row. “Convergent evolution. Or: why are so many polemon becoming kingler. Pass these back, one each.” He starts his lecture, and Nemona tries to concentrate. She really, really does. But it starts again, too quiet for Jaq to hear. It should’ve been too quiet for her to hear at the front.
“Do you think she’s, like… a dyke, or is she actually a boy?”
“She acts like one. You should seenher in gym.”
“God, she grunts when she throws. Like—full-on dude sounds.”
“Not surprised no one wants her. It’s exhausting just looking at her.”
“She’s always doing the most. Like that’ll make us forget how weird she is.”
Her hand clenches. The pen in her hand snaps, plastic slices her finger. Ink splatters across her page. The room goes silent. She can’t look at Jaq, can’t bear to see the look of pity and concern she knows he’ll wear. She stands slowly, spins and, voice smaller than she’d like, she rips off the bandage.
“Yeah. I’m a lesbian. Happy?” Then she grabs her bag and walks out.
She doesn’t know where she’s going until she turns up at the rear courtyard. Empty, thank god. There’s forty minutes until battle studies starts; plenty of time for her to get some actual training in. Her skin itches, her muscles tense and her throw releasing Pawmot is a little off-center. It doesn’t matter. She’s not looking for perfection.
“Agility.” She commands eithout introduction or flair; there’s no audience here for her to dazzle. “Then; tackle me. Your speed, my stamina.”
She’s not allowed to train like this in class. Too risky, too dangerous. But she does it with her pokemon all the time, in her own time. Her pokemon trust her. It obeys, dashing forward over and over. Shs’s not fast enough, of course. Didn’t want to be.
Pawmot slams into her and sends her flying. She gets up, fights to pull air into her lungs, then crouches.
“Thunder punch.” She says, her own fists raised. “Come at me.” Pawmot does. It’s like boxing, really. She’s taller, heavier, but Pawmot is so much faster. It hits her; in the stomach, in the arm, smacks into her ribs. She hits back, but only lands a glancing blow on its ear. She grins, and stops it.
“Good. Great, I’m—I’m proud of you.” she says amd for some reason the words sting today.
She retrieves Pawmot and sends out Lycanroc. Its not as big a fan of the ‘trust training’ as she calls it. It obeys her orders, but its paw taps on the ground, its ears flair back. It knows something isn’t right.
“Stone edge!” She calls. “Space em out, AoE style.” It hesistates for a moment, ear twitching, before it obeys. Nemona rolls and dodges, but a couple of rocks hut her. Slicing the sleeve of her shirt, cutting open her cheek. She winces, then stands on shaky legs. “Again!” she barks, bracing herself.
It obeys. But there are fewer rocks than before. She spins out of the way, frowning. “I know what you’re doing!” she shouts at it. “It’s fine, we need this! Accelerock!” This is why Dendra doesn’t let them train like this. She’s not training anymore. She’s punishing herself, and Lycanroc knows it.
It doesn’t move. She shouts again, but it just lies down. So. Even her pokemon can’t respect her anymore. She falls to her knees, blood, sweat and the slow trickle of tears streaming down her face. Lycanroc pads forward, they kays down in front of her.
Someone tackles her from behind. She gasps, on high alert, but warm arms keep her locked in place.
“Breathe, idiot.” Juliana whispers, burying her head into Nemona’s neck. “Breathe in. Hold it. When you breathe out, we’re gonna get you standing.”
Nemona exhales shakily, head down. Juliana can feel every tremor that wrecks her, must think her stupid. Weak. Wrong.
“I can’t, I—fuck, Jules, I—”
“You can.” She replies firmly. “I know you can. You have to. Class starts in a few minutes, people will be out here—”
That does the trick. Juliana pushing her, like she’s always pushed her. The threat of a public breakdown. She pushes up on one leg and suddenly she’s standing. She calls back Lycanroc, presses a kiss to the pokeball. “Sorry buddy. It’s not your fault. You were right.” Then she turns heel and heads straight into Dendra’a office, on the edge of the gym blocl and right next to the rear courtyard. It’s the only place she could throw her title around to get any peace, and right now she needs that more than anything else. Juliana follows, of course she does.
“Are we allowed to be in here?” she asks quietly, looking around in awe. Nemona shrugs, drops her bag to the floor and drops herself onto a bench. She hunches forward, hands behind her head.
“I am.” She replies distractedly. She feels Juliana sit down, close enough that her warmth feels like the sun. Nemona’s whole body aches. From gym earlier. From the tension she keeps coiled inside her like a spring wrapped around her spine. And of course, from taking beating after beating from her own pokemon. Her body shakes, she’s filthy, her arm and cheek and knees bleed.
“Let’s get you patched up.” Juliana says softly, already moving to stand again. Nemona’s hand grabs for her, stilling her.
“You don’t have to be here.” She says. “I don’t—don’t want you to—” she can’t finish her sentence, choking back a sob. Still, her fingers don’t let go of Juliana’s skirt until she sits back down slowly.
“I want to be.” She says simply. She wraps an arm around Nemona’s back and gently strokes up and down her shoulder, and waits for her to speak.
“They’re right.” She says finally, laughing short and ugly. She still can’t look up. “I do look like a boy. Sound like one. I—I walk like one, throw like one, think like one…fuck, now they know I love like one.” Her next inhale drags through her. “Dyke. Well they’re not fucking wrong.”
“Nemona—”
“I’m just trying to do my best! It’s fucking—I hold this fucking school together. I’m a top student, I’m helpful, bright and fucking sunshine and they just—”
Juliana pulls her close. Nemona slumps on her shoulder. The tears slowly come to a stop.
“Some of them are jealous.” Juliana says quietly, voice muffled by Nemona’s hair. “You move through this school and you’re perfect, Nem.” Nemona scoffs, tries to argue, but Juliana doesn’t let her speak. “You are, and you shine like the fucking sun, and those people can’t handle that.” She slumps back against the wall. “The rest are just homophobes. Can’t do much about them except keep kicking ass in class.”
“That’s part of the problem.” Nemona sits up slowly, dizzy. “One sec—” She lurches forward, bile in her throat, blood on her tongue. She’s not going to throw up. She’s not. But it’s close.
“You’re concussed.” Juliana says drily. “You’re going to the nurse’s office — some of those cuts look pretty nasty too.” Nemona looks to where Juliana’s fingers caress gently against her arm, surprised.
“I didn’t know he got me.” She says quietly, staring at where her blood oozes up through her shirt. “I didn’t feel it. But anyway—” She glances back to Juliana. “I’m not missing battle studies. I—I don’t want to hide.”
“You’re not hiding, idiot.” Juliana says, bumping her shoulder into Nemona’s. “You need to see a medical professional.”
“They’ll think I’m hiding.” She protests, already pushing herself to her feet. “Which is worse.” She stretches her arms wide, wincing when she feels the pull on her cuts. “Shit, where’s—” She turns to Dendra’s desk. “I know she keeps it somewhere—” Nemona grabs the first aid kit from one of the drawers, unzips it and starts dealing with her injuries. She looks up briefly to see Juliana glaring at her.
“You can’t just—”
“If I go to Miriam, there’ll be forms to fill in. Paperwork. She’ll make me sit out for the rest of the day. I’ll have a lecture on unsafe training techniques.”
“Which is all perfectly reasonable!”
“Which will draw more attention to me.” Nemona hisses. She winces at the sting of the antiseptic wipe and covers herself in plasters in silence. Juliana just waits. “Look, I’m sorry. I fucked up out there. Went too hard. I won’t do it again.” She promises. Juliana hesistates for a moment. Then she nods, accepts the compromise.
“We gotta change, we’re definitely going to be a few minutes late. Should we—”
“Dendra won’t mind.” Nemona says confidently. She won’t, either. Dendra pretty much lets Nemona do whatever she likes, without need to explain herself. She changes in the staff locker room sometimes, when her body feels too big and the whispers feel too loud. But Juliana doesn’t need to know all that.
She nods, and starts pulling out her sportswear. They change in minutes, quick even by Nemona’s standards, and join the class just as Dendra’s announcing the pairs for battle. Other students shuffle away as Nemona stands there; she doesn’t acknowledge it. Dendra pairs them together, and Nemona can breathe a little bit easier when Juliana takes her hand and they set up at the far edge of the field. They’re avoided; good. Because Juliana spends the lesson treating her like something fragile. Something precious. And Nemona has no idea how to handle that softness, so she basks in it.
The end of the day can’t come soon enough. She hurts now, stretched out in the dusty little corner of the library surrounded by actual fiction books that no one reads. The printer that hasn’t worked in Nemona’s academic career stands unplugged in one corner.
“Bet I could fix it.” Penny pulls a lollipop out of her mouth to say, gesturing at the hulking machine. Arven grimaces as Penny flicks spit everywhere.
“Gross.” He mutters, edging closer to Nemona. “So, tell me again. What happened?” Nemona shrugs, avoids Juliana’s glare. Winces when she kicks at Nemona’s boot and sends a fresh wave of pain through every muscle in her body.
“I came out in class. Rage quit. Then went outside to—to train.”
“Should’ve seen her.” Juliana mutters, still glaring. “This idiot took stone edge after stone edge to the face. And that was only while I got there, god knows what else she did.”
“You’re insane.” Arven says flatly. He throws a flapjack at her. “And you probably need to eat.”
“I, uh, boxed with Pawmot.” She says quietly. Juliana makes a noise in the back of her throat that Nemona kind of wants to laugh at. She doesn’t. She doesn’t want a death sentence.
“You boxed. With your high-speed kickboxing demon.” Penny doesn’t even sound surprised. “Badass. Stupid. Jules is right, you’re an idiot. But badass.”
“Shouldn’t have to be badass.” Juliana mutters.
“A-fucking-men.” Arven says, clinking his water bottle against hers. “But, congratulations!”
“Baby gay takes her first steps.” Penny adds. “We’re all very proud.”
“You’re all idiots.” Nemona mutters, but her face feels warm and she can’t fight a smile. Juliana glances at her, brows creased. Nemona gets the feeling she’s going to say something that makes her crack. So she grins wider, nudges her and says very quietly “Thanks. For… everything.” Juliana’s face softens, and she nods. She reaches out and, so carefully that something tightens in Nemona’s chest, she pulls Nemona’s blazer back into position. Hiding a bloodstain on her shirt.
“There’s no way you could fix that thing.” Juliana nods her head towards the printer. “It’s gotta be older than Clavell.”
“Nothing is older than Clavell.” Nemona says. They’re all laughing, tension forgotten. “I believe in you Penny, you go for it.”
“Why though?” Arven frowns at Penny, narrows his eyes. “No one remembers its even there; what are you gonna do with a printer?” Penny refuses to answer, even when their questioning becomes increasingly absurd.
“Okay, so definitely a robot, right?” Juliana asks, cackling, and they finally get shushed by the librarian for their chaos. If this is what Nemona gets, at the end of every day, she reckons she’ll be okay.